Saskia moves to slap me again, and I grab her wrist, ready to inflict pain if she dares lift a finger to me. “I’m not some little kid you can bully anymore. I put up with enough of your shit growing up, and you don’t get to take your anger out on me. You made your own life choices. Deal with it.” Her entire body vibrates with barely concealed rage as I release my hold on her, pinning her with a challenging look. “Hit me and I’ll hit you back ten times harder.”
“That’s enough.” Father’s rageful boom carries across the room. Jabbing his finger in the air, he glares at me. “Is this connected to Tony’s disappearance?”
He grilled me last weekend when Tony’s MIA status became obvious. I smirk. “Supposedly, you’re a smart man. You figure it out.” My spine stiffens, and my jaw tenses as he stalks toward me.
“You need to get out of here,” Mom whispers in my ear, and I feel her trembling against me.
He grips my chin, digging his nails into my skin, but I refuse to show any emotion. “Where is Tony?” he hisses, spittle flying from his lips, hitting me in the face.
“I don’t know,” I truthfully reply. He’s long gone from New York by now, I’m sure.
He slaps me, and the sting of his hand on my cheek is far harsher than my sister’s efforts. “Don’t you lie to me.” He raises his hand again, but Mom intervenes, yanking me behind her. Father’s nails draw blood on my chin as I’m dragged away from him.
“I know you’re angry, Joseph, but you can’t hit her. I won’t allow it.”
“Saskia is right,” he fumes. “This is all your fault, Georgia. You were always too lenient on her. I let you pander to her whims to keep the peace, but it was a mistake.”
“It isn’t fair!” Saskia cries, and I drag my gaze from my father, almost keeling over at the sight of my sister with tears streaming down her face. I have never seen Saskia cry. Never.
“Darling.” Felix comes up behind his wife, wrapping his arms around her. I expect Saskia to push him away, like she does the rare times he indulges in PDAs, but she turns in his arms, sobbing into his chest.
“How is it my slut of a sister can get pregnant without even trying and I can’t?”
Her words are muffled against his chest but clear enough to be heard. I’m guessing that was the intent. I am done with her calling me a slut. At twenty-one, I have had sex with three men. That’s hardly whore-worthy.
I’m so mad at her I’m tempted to tell her it’s Ben, just to see the look on her face. But this isn’t about me anymore, and I have a child to protect. The thought is sobering.
I’m not religious, despite being raised in a Catholic household and forced to attend church every Sunday until I turned eighteen and put my foot down. But I have wondered if Saskia has ever considered why God isn’t blessing her with a baby. My guess is he doesn’t want to inflict that kind of suffering on any innocent child. I don’t even know why Saskia wants to be a mom so badly. She’s self-centered and absorbed in her career and her busy life, and I can’t see her sacrificing her lifestyle for a child. My sister is the type to give birth and immediately pass the child to a nanny to raise.
“I am not a slut,” I say, disengaging from Mom’s protective stance. I’m glad my voice is level and my resolve is intact. “And I’m done with being judged unfairly by this family.” I face my father. “You’ve never wanted me, and I know you hate me. That I’ve been a constant disappointment. See this as the perfect opportunity to disown me. None of your cronies will disagree now I have shamed you.”
“I couldn’t have put it more perfectly,” he agrees, pinning me with a hateful expression. “You are no longer a daughter of mine and no longer welcome in this house.”
“Joseph. No.” Mom’s voice cracks, and I know this has the power to hurt her the most.
I turn to her, ignoring my father and my older sister, saying all I need to say. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s for the best, and I expected this. I have a place, and I have my things in the car. I will call you.” I disposed of the cell my father gave me. I’m not naïve; I know it wouldn’t take much for him to get my new number or to discover my new apartment or the address to the new home I’m in the process of buying for me and my child, but I’m banking on the fact he just doesn’t care anymore.
For the first time in my life, I will be completely free of the ties that bind me to my family, to the Lawson name, and it feels invigorating.
As I walk out of my family home for the last time, I can’t help thinking this is meant to be. That I am exactly where I should be, and despite the lingering fears bubbling in my chest, I am excited for what the future will bring.
PART II - SIX YEARS LATER
15
BEN
“ETA in five minutes, boss,” Alessandro says from the driver’s seat of my armored SUV.
I acknowledge him through the mirror before I resume staring out the window. Fourteen years. That’s how long it’s been since I was last in Illinois. I left less than a week after my disastrous anniversary dinner with Saskia. Not by choice. But I refuse to live a life of regrets. I might have detested Angelo Mazzone when he first dragged me, kicking and screaming, from Chicago, but he did me a favor. My relationship with my old man is complicated and underscored with deep-seated resentment and hostility, but I don’t regret he plucked me from a dead-end life to the one I live now.
The man whose funeral I’m here to attend is the last remaining tie I had to my old hometown. Terry Scott was the only decent man my mother ever hooked up with. If she hadn’t been so wasted on booze and drugs, she might have realized it and tried harder to make things work with him.
Addiction is a terrible disease. I watched it devour my mother from the inside until it consumed her life. She OD’d when I was twenty. That I couldn’t save her is one of only two regrets in my life.
Jillian Carver’s demise is the main reason I control my liquor consumption carefully and I never take narcotics. I drill it into my men and our staff not to touch the drugs we supply to a wide network of VIP clientele. Addiction is a one-way road to hell, and I won’t tolerate any mishaps in my organization. You use? You’re out. It’s as simple as that.
When we pass the sign for Sierra’s hometown, I ponder my only other regret. I wish I’d never fucked my ex’s little sister because I can’t erase the memory of that night from my brain no matter how many years have passed or how many women I screw. It’s as if she imprinted herself on a part of my soul, and I can’t get her out. I’ve been tempted to look her up, during certain weak moments, but I have always resisted.
Radiant goddesses like Sierra Lawson have no place in my world. Even more so now. Angelo’s condition is worsening by the day, and it won’t be long until the entire empire is officially mine. At thirty-five, I will be the richest, most powerful boss in the US and one of the most successful businessmen to boot. I’m proud of my achievements, but it has come at a high price.
“Have you reconsidered contacting Gifoli while we’re in town?” Leo asks, from his seat beside me.
I shake my head. “The timing isn’t right.” I eye the two soldati in the front seats so Leo doesn’t say too much.
Alessandro is my most promising soldier and a man I trust with my life. He’s only twenty-six but smarter and more observant than men who have been killing for longer than he’s been born. It’s why I elevated him to my personal bodyguard a year ago. The other man in the car is Frank, Leo’s younger brother. Another soldier with strong potential. I trust them, but there are plenty of things that can’t be discussed in front of them.
They are aware my father is very ill, and they know to carry the secret. Keeping Angelo’s stage-four-cancer prognosis from becoming public knowledge is critical. We are at a pivotal juncture within the organization, having united most of the famiglia across the US under The Commission’s governance, and we have consolidated forces to help in the upcoming war with the Russians. Chicago and Florida are the only two famiglia on the outside, but we are hoping to bring them into
the fold in due course. The Russians are mobilizing, restructuring, and getting organized. It’s only a matter of time before they make a move.
If the Bratva or any of our other enemies discover my father is dying, it leaves us exposed. With the right persuasion, it could weaken The Commission at a time when we are not fully united. And if The Outfit discovers the truth, it could tempt them to push for ultimate control. Right now, I’m acknowledged as the Mazzone heir apparent and acting boss, but they assume Angelo is still calling the shots.
He’s not. I’m in charge in everything but name.
“We’re here, boss,” Alessandro says, swinging the blacked-out SUV into the church parking lot.
“Damn. This takes me back.” I peer out the window at the familiar gray brick church.
“You went to church?” Leo asks, disbelief evident in his tone.
“Angelo ensured I was baptized before he abandoned my mom,” I admit. “I don’t know if she felt some sense of obligation, but she frog-marched me in that door every Sunday. Half the time she was too high to even realize what she was doing. I often wondered if she felt it might absolve her of her sins.”
I don’t talk about my mother much. Leo knows the full story. Frank has heard bits from the Messina family over the years, no doubt. And Alessandro can be trusted to keep his mouth shut.
It’s no secret I’m Angelo’s bastard son. Everyone knows he only looked me up when Mateo—the half-brother I never met—was gunned down in cold blood in the streets of Manhattan. To this day, no one has been charged with his murder. My father suspects the Russians or the Irish were behind it. Without proof, he couldn’t go after them. Not without inciting a full-blown war. I’m sure that sticks in his gut, but he never mentions it to me. He never talks about his firstborn son. Not even with my sister Natalia.
“You want us to come in, boss?” Alessandro asks, glancing over his shoulder at me.
I shake my head as I slip on my suit jacket. Early September is still warm enough in Chicago not to need a coat. “That won’t be necessary. Leo and I have this.”
It’s not like I’m expecting a shoot-out in church. New York might have beef with The Outfit, but it has never turned violent. We find other ways of taking potshots at one another.
We pay our respects and attend the burial, and a couple hours later, we head back to the car. Frank is outside by the hood, smoking a cigarette as he scans the dispersing crowd.
“Any issues?” I inquire as we come up to him.
“It’s all quiet on the home front, boss.”
We climb into the car, and I’m ready to split for the private airfield, but we’re hungry, so I direct Alessandro to Glencoe. It’s the most affluent city in Chicago and prime real estate, bordering Lake Michigan. The historical village has an abundance of top-class restaurants, which better serve our needs.
The fact it’s Sierra’s hometown doesn’t factor into my planning.
Alessandro whistles as we drive through central downtown. “Wow, this place is nice.”
“Glencoe is the eighth richest town in the US,” I explain as I stare out my window, watching people going about their daily business. “It was developed as a planned community back in eighteen sixty-nine, and nowadays, it has one of the most attractive business districts along the North Shore.”
“You sound like a talking encyclopedia,” Leo says, smirking.
“I dated a girl from here. Spent a lot of time socializing in the village.”
“You sound nostalgic,” Frank says.
“Not in the least.” I grit my teeth. “Most of my memories are not pleasant.” As we round the bend, I spot a familiar blonde head outside the private kindergarten.
Speak of the devil.
“Stop the car.” I’m not sure why I do it, but Alessandro pulls up alongside the curb before I can change my mind. Leo frowns, but he gets out of the car alongside me without asking questions.
“Rowan! Hold my hand,” Saskia says to a little dark-haired boy at her side. He is wearing a school uniform and a sulky grin.
“I want Auntie Serena,” the boy replies, stubbornly folding his arms across his chest. “She always gets me candy on Fridays,” he pouts.
Saskia grabs his hand. “Candy will rot your teeth, and Auntie Serena should know better.”
“Still laying down the law, I see,” I say as we approach my ex and her son.
Saskia stares at me in confusion for a few seconds before her eyes pop wide. “Ben?” Disbelief drips from her tone. “Bennett Carver? Is it really you?” Her appreciative gaze rakes me up and down, and she angles one hip, thrusting her chest forward. Saskia had big tits when I knew her, but it’s like two melons are propped on her chest now. Enhanced lips and a suspiciously smooth brow confirm her tits aren’t the only cosmetic surgery she has indulged in.
It’s fitting that the fake exterior matches her fake personality now. Saskia was always beautiful on the outside—it’s what initially drew me to her—but completely ugly on the inside. By the end of our relationship, I could barely tolerate being in the same room as her.
“It’s me,” I say, glancing at the little boy. His head is tilted to the side, and he’s staring intently at me, studying me with these wide big blue eyes, like I’m a puzzle he wants to figure out.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” she says, licking her lips and batting her eyelashes. Her gaze veers to Leo, and her grin expands as she gives him a brief eye-fuck. Man, is she still using those tired moves? The flashy rock on her ring finger is clearly no deterrent. “You just upped and left, Ben,” she adds, refocusing on me. “Vanished off the face of the Earth. I was so worried.”
Yeah, I’m sure she was. Worried about how it made her look. “We broke up, and I left town. I thought it would’ve been apparent.”
Her lips purse, and a flash of anger glints in her eyes before she disguises it. “It’s water under the bridge now anyway.” She forces a sweet smile on her face. “Life has clearly been good to you. You look great.” Her eyes drift up and down my body again. Her blatant undressing feels like a violation, and I barely contain a shudder. Her little boy tugs on her hand, getting bored, but she ignores him.
I shoot him a pitiful smile. Poor kid. I know what it’s like to be saddled with a shitty mother.
“We should meet for coffee. Catch up.” She reaches out, touching my arm uninvited.
I purposely stare at her hand on my jacket until she removes it. “I’m only passing through town.”
“Auntie Saskia,” the little boy says, peering up at her with pleading eyes. “Can we go for candy now? Puh-leeeze.”
All the hairs on the back of my neck lift at his words. Schooling my features into a neutral line, I examine the child more closely.
“Not now, Rowan,” she hisses, working hard to shield her impatience from Leo and me. “Be quiet. The adults are talking.”
She dismisses him like he’s a nuisance, rolling her eyes as she gives me her undivided attention. “Sorry about that. His manners leave a lot to be desired.”
“He’s not your son?” I ask, doing some math in my head.
A fleeting glimmer of pain races across her face. “Oh my God. No.” She slaps a hand across her chest. “No child of mine would ever be so unruly.” Rowan scowls, and I don’t blame him. Saskia is as brash and rude as she has always been. “He’s Sierra’s bastard,” she volunteers without me having to ask.
While she may not be aware I’m the bastard son of the notorious Angelo Mazzone, she knows I grew up in a single-parent household, with a junkie mom, knowing nothing about my father, so I take huge offense to her words. Pinning her with a lethal look—one I normally reserve for men I’m about to interrogate or murder with my bare hands—I keep my tone deliberately low so the child doesn’t overhear. “Tread carefully, Saskia, before you insult this bastard son.”
She gulps audibly, her eyes popping wide with a combination of fear and panic. “My comment was in no way directed at you.” Rage filters through my v
eins, but she blathers on, oblivious. “And look how well you have done for yourself. You should be so proud of how far you have come.”
I shove my hands in my pants pockets before I’m tempted to hit a woman for the first time. “Who is his father?” I ask, ignoring her condescending remarks because I’m fast running out of patience. I want to get the pertinent facts and get the hell away from her.
“No one knows. Not even Sierra.” She makes no attempt to lower her tone, and my jaw pulls taut with the strain involved in holding my tongue. If things are as I’m beginning to suspect, then maintaining a blank face in front of my ex is essential. I won’t give her any reason to start connecting the dots. “The slut came back from Vegas knocked up at twenty-one,” she continues, confirming my suspicions. “Not that I was surprised—"
I tune her poisonous tirade out, focusing on the little boy instead as my mind grapples to process this bombshell. Crouching down, I stare at him up close, and the resemblance almost knocks me flat on my ass. My heart is pounding behind my rib cage. Blood thrums in my ears. “Hey, Rowan. I’m Ben.” My hand is shaking as I offer it to him, and I hope Saskia doesn’t notice. “How old are you?”
Rowan eyes my hand like it’s infected. Wrenching his hand from Saskia’s, he folds his arms again, regarding me warily. “Mommy says I’m not to talk to strangers.” His confident little voice tugs at my heartstrings.
Clearing my throat, I hope my smile looks genuine and that it masks my growing shock. I let my arm drop. “Your mommy is smart. I used to know her when she was a little girl.”
Condemned to Love:  Page 12
